


truth shook the trees and blew away our fears

by nowrunalong



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Amnesia, F/F, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 12:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/pseuds/nowrunalong
Summary: Spike sighs and leans back on her hands. “I think you must be the righteous hero of this story.”“Whose story?”“Anyone’s,” Spike says. “Everyone’s, probably.”Buffy & Spike wake up in a hotel room together with little to no memory of how they got there.





	truth shook the trees and blew away our fears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dykepatrol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykepatrol/gifts).



> In this story, Spike is a woman. This isn't for any narrative/plot reasons; I'm just gay.
> 
> This story takes place post-series, after Buffy & Spike have gotten back together.

Buffy's eyelids are heavy. Some internal clock is telling her it’s time to get up, get ready, and face the day—but she can’t. Why is everything so blurry? She blinks once, twice. Nothing changes. Either there’s no light where she is, or she’s gone blind.

That, or she’s still dreaming and she hasn’t managed to blink at all.

There’s a funny taste in mouth: acidic, like she’d been sucking on a lemon. A fuzzy lemon. Her mouth feels fuzzy. 

“Hnng,” she manages, rolling over with a stretch.

Her arm connects with someone’s face.

“Ow,” someone says indignantly. “Watch the nose, will you?”

Buffy recoils, scooting right off the side of the bed and landing hard on the carpeted floor.

“Oh my God.”

There’s a sliver of light in the room, after all: outside light peeking in through closed curtains. It’s not much, but it’s enough to illuminate the silhouette of the _someone_ on the bed. Sitting up, Buffy fumbles for a light switch.

_There’s always a light switch._

“Who are you?”

“Who am _I_?” Buffy asks, voice admirably non-shaky. “Who are _you_?”

Her right hand finds the switch for the lamp on the bedside table, and the room is suffused with a soft, golden-yellow light.

A woman stares down at her curiously, the new light source accentuating her pronounced cheekbones and her pale hair, which is pulled back into a tight ponytail. It’s long—tumbling over her shoulder as she leans forward to look at Buffy. She’s wearing a white t-shirt and—make that _just_ a white t-shirt. Buffy looks away, awkward.

“There’s something familiar about you,” the woman says, still staring. “Been awake for half an hour—can’t remember my own name, but you. Reckon I know you.”

“Anyone ever tell you that staring’s kinda creepy?” Buffy asks, regaining her ability to speak. “What the hell is going on? Where are we?” She stands up and points a finger at the woman on the bed. “Who _are_ you?”

The woman scoffs. “I told you: I don’t know. I thought maybe, uh… you could help me out with that. Seein’ as I woke up next to you an’ all.”

“How can you not know who you are?”

“Well… I’m… Who’re you?”

“Buffy,” Buffy says. “I’m a… I’m the…” She trails off, frowning. Her brain is as fuzzy as her mouth is. She can remember a name, but little else. Home? Family? She must have both, but she’s drawing a blank.

She’s drawing a whole _lotta_ blanks.

“How do I know this wasn’t you?” she asks, rounding on the other woman. “Hmm? How do I know you didn’t… didn’t drug me, or—or do some kind of magic spell, or…”

“Why would I _want_ to forget my own name?”

“You could be lying. Ooh, look! Luggage.”

There’s only one suitcase: the luggage tag has Buffy’s name on it.

“Buffy Summers,” she reads aloud. “Looks like it’s mine. Not really looking good for you, Lovegood.”

“Lovegood?”

“Luna. She’s British. Also, kinda wacky.”

“She’s—”

“A pop culture reference! Hey—I still remember some stuff!”

Buffy unzips the suitcase with a modicum more glee than she’d had a moment before and begins to root through the contents. It’s mostly clothing, but she does find—aha! Wallet. And— _oh_.

There are three pictures tucked into the photo slot. The one on top features a much younger Buffy posing with a girl and a boy her own age. The second is of Buffy with a younger girl and older woman—her family, Buffy is positive.

The third is a folded up strip of photos clearly taken in a mall photo booth. She unfurls it slowly.

“What’s that, then?”

“Nothing,” Buffy says quickly, shoving the photos back in the wallet.

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“It’s—I’m…” She frowns again. “I think we’re dating.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’s either that, or Buffy’s someone who makes a habit of kissing strangers in cramped spaces.”

“Let me see that.”

“What?”

“The wallet. There’s nothing o’ mine in there?”

“Just the—oh.” Buffy snickers.

“‘Oh’ what?”

“This has _gotta_ be yours. There’s no way in _hell_ my nickname is Spike.” Buffy passes the card the other woman.

It’s a reminder for a hair appointment, filled out in blue pen.

Name: _Spike_  
With: _Melissa_  
Date: _April 17_  
Time: _10:45 AM_

“Oh my _God_ ,” Buffy says, the implications of this hitting her. “I’m dating someone called Spike.”

“Hey! Standing right here.” Spike passes the card back to Buffy, and she tucks it away in the wallet behind a Starbucks rewards card.

“So, what’s going on, honey? Can I call you ‘honey’? ‘Cause I’ve had a bit too much to drink before, and it’s never led to me forgetting my own mother’s name before. Also the year.” Buffy frowns. “What year is it?”

“More pressing question, luv. Have you seen my pants? I don’t much fancy goin’ out without them.”

“Pants!” Buffy yelps.

Spike stares at her.

“I-I mean, why aren’t you wearing them?”

“It’s not exactly the dead of winter,” Spike says pointedly, looking at Buffy’s teeny pajama shorts. She checks the floor on the other side of the bed. “Nothing. Must be in that suitcase of yours. Mind passing ‘em over?”

“Right. ‘Cause—‘cause we should go out. Um. Out where?”

Buffy throws open the curtains to reveal a sliding door onto a balcony. The hotel room overlooks a small swimming pool, a patio, and several stubby palm trees. She stretches out her arms, and the warm light makes her tanned skin glow gold.

“Aaaarghhh!” Spike yells, yanking the blanket over her head.

“Spike?” Buffy frowns. “You okay?”

“Buggering sun’s too bright.”

“It’s the daytime. It’s supposed to be this bright.”

“It hurts, Buffy.”

“It _hurts_?”

“It burns.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a little light.”

Buffy crosses back over to the bed and tries to yank the blanket up. Spike’s hand emerges, catching it before Buffy can move it very far.

Her black-painted nails stand out starkly against her white skin. Before Buffy can comment on how much Spike evidently _needs_ a little sun, however, her hand bursts into flames.

“Aaarrghhhhh!” Spike howls again, rolling off the far side off the bed.

The blanket goes with.

“Spike! Oh _God_ , Spike. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— _hey_. You’re a _vampire_!”

The blanket pile on the floor goes still: Spike had managed to smother the fire.

“What? Am not.”

“I cannot believe this. First, you’re a girl. And… nothing against—y’know. I just didn’t know. You know? Second: ‘ _Spike_ ’? And you don’t have photo ID. ‘Cause—hello, dead person! Third, you’re a vampire. Fourth? You’re _British_.”

“I think I’d know if I was a vampire,” Spike says, voice muffled.

“You forgot your own _name_. Of course,” Buffy adds pensively, “if my name was Spike, I’d wanna forget it, too.”

“Can you lay off the name? Wallet photos, remember? You’re supposed to like me.”

“Maybe little wallet-me was delusional.”

“This conversation would go better with a little less _homicidal sunlight_ , don’t you think?”

“I dunno,” Buffy says carefully. “What if you try to bite me?”

“I don’t want to bite you.”

“ _Aha_! So you _admit_ you’re a vampire.”

“I’m not admittin’ anything!” Spike says, exasperated. “I don’t _know_ anything! Now, can we _please_ close the bloody curtains?”

“Okay! Fine. But if you try anything…” Buffy warns.

“Yeah. I’m sure you’ll stake me through the heart.”

Buffy closes the curtains and Spike cautiously tosses off the blanket.

“Can I have my pants now?”

—

Buffy changes in the bathroom. When she emerges in a blue halter top and a short black skirt, Spike’s sitting on the bed, fully dressed in black trousers and black boots, a black leather duster thrown over the same white t-shirt she’d slept in.

“I thought it _wasn’t_ the dead of winter,” Buffy deadpans.

“The coat felt right.”

Buffy doesn’t argue. It looks kinda hot on her, anyway.

“So. Vampires are real. I’m dating one. Someone drugged both me _and_ my vampire girlfriend. I vote that I do some snooping around to figure out where we are. You can stay here where you won’t get all flame-y.”

“Oh, that’s right. I get to be the one who cowers under a blanket watching telly while you play detective.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“We both stick around the room til it gets dark. See what we can find out here. Better in twos, yeah?”

“Are you afraid of being alone?” Buffy asks.

“O’ course not,” Spike scoffs. “It sounds bloody boring, is all.”

“And you think I could make waiting here all day… less boring?” Buffy asks, trailing a finger up her thigh til it hits the hem of her skirt.

“Well… yeah,” Spike says slowly, watching her hand.

Part of Buffy’s brain is reminding her that Spike is a vampire and that this is a dangerous game she’s playing. The other part doesn’t give a damn because Spike’s looking at her like… _that_.

“Well… tough.”

“Tough?” Spike asks. She’s still eyeing Buffy hungrily.

“Mmm, yep. ‘Cause I-I don’t really know you. Yet. Um, right now.”

“But you _want_ to.”

“I want to get my memories back.”

Spike sighs and leans back on her hands. “I think you must be the righteous hero of this story.”

“Whose story?”

“Anyone’s,” Spike says. “Everyone’s, probably.”

“What does that make you?”

“I don’t know. S’long as I’m not your sidekick. Partner? Irresistibly sexy nemesis?”

“Let’s go with ‘partner’.”

“Partner,” Spike agrees. “And I’m coming with you, luv. I’ll bring the blanket and stick to the shadows. I just can’t be cooped up here all day. I’ll go mad.”

Buffy holds out her hand and Spike takes it, standing up.

“Okay,” Buffy says. “But if there’s trouble—you can take the fall.”


End file.
